


Sweet Nothings

by faboomaster666



Category: Smosh
Genre: M/M, RIP, Sorry Not Sorry, Torture, Writing Prompt, damien is mentioned but isnt ever actually featured, like seriously ill put it later, no but seriously, shaynes fucking dead, slight stockholm almost????, this got too long to actually put in the group chat, trigger warning tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 17:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faboomaster666/pseuds/faboomaster666
Summary: Shayne is kidnapped by Noah and things get...interesting.ORI got a writing prompt from my Discord group and it got too long to turn in so I'm posting it here so that others can suffer too.





	Sweet Nothings

“N-noah?” Shayne can’t see anything. The last thing he remembers is brushing his teeth when suddenly everything went dark.

  “Wow, you woke up sooner I was expecting. I’m not quite ready for you, so just hang tight.” Shayne hears a voice. It almost sounds...familiar.

  Suddenly his blindfold is ripped off and bright, white light floods his vision and he feels temporarily paralyzed. Once he regains his vision, he looks to try and locate where the voice is coming from. Then he sees him...Noah? What’s he doing here?

  “Noah? Oh thank god, please get me out of here!” Shayne begs as he begins to struggle against the apparent ropes tying him down to the chair.

“Oh, I can’t do that. See, I was the one who got you here to begin with.” Noah sounds different. Cold. 

  “What? Noah, what are you talking about? Get me out of here.” Shayne is close to tears at this point, clearly not understanding his position at all.

  “Like I said before, I can’t do that. You honestly don’t know why you’re here? I’ve been targeting you for months. You always have been hard to control, but what else is new?” Noah lets out a cruel laugh.

  “I… I don’t understand.” Shayne doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. 

“I don’t need to explain myself to you. Just shut up and listen and just  _ maybe  _ I won’t hurt you that bad.”

  Shayne literally has no other words for what he is feeling. Disbelief? Disappointment? Anger? All of it is just rushing through his head at one time and he can’t keep track of his emotions anymore. Why would Noah do this? What the  _ fuck  _ did he ever do to him? Shayne thought that he was a good boyfriend. He had honestly thought that Noah loved him. He never thought that he would want to hurt, no,  _ to kill _ , Shayne. What about everything that he had told him? What about every single fucking thing that they had gone through together? 

  Shayne feels a hot, piercing pain on his right shoulder blade. Wait, where did his shirt go? Oh. Right. He doesn’t sleep with a shirt. Either way though, that’s not what he should be focusing on right now. What he should be worrying about is what the hell just got put on his back. Out of all things, why was he worrying about his shirt?

  “That’s better.”

“What the hell did you do to me, you  _ freak _ ?” Shayne screams.

   “Branded you.” Noah says it like it’s no big deal.

“ **_You what,_ ** ” Shayne says with disbelief, but winces in pain as he tries to turn. “What the fuck did you put on me?”

  “Something beautiful. It’s a lilac. I wanted something long lasting and something that will always remind people of me when they see it. It’s my favourite symbol, and maybe one day you’ll understand why; That is, if you make it out of here alive.” Noah says everything nonchalantly. 

  “You’re sick.” Shayne spits at him.

Suddenly Shayne gets a sharp smack against his cheek. It and his back start to sting, from both the slap and the branding, as he struggles to move and cover himself. Apparently Noah isn’t taking his back-talk anymore. Good to know. Shayne sits up again, and spits a bit of blood at Noah’s feet. 

  “Oh, that won’t do.” Noah sounds so evil. At this point Shayne doesn’t even think that he sounds human anymore.

  Noah walks behind Shayne, somewhere he can’t see no matter how hard he tries. He hears metal tools and a ton of rustling, until,  _ *snap.*  _ Noah walks back in front of Shayne, wearing blue medical gloves, dragging a tray of god knows what on one of those rolling trays, that servers typically use.  He pretends to be deep in thought and taps his index finger against his chin as he “decides” what tool to use first. He finally picks up what looks like a combination of a saw and a sharp knife.

  Shayne  _ really  _ wants to ask him what’s going on and what he’s doing, but decides against it. He just sits and waits for him to get his shit together, but he’s also terrified of what the hell he’s actually doing. Shayne tries to be patient, he really does, but it’s so hard when you’re basically waiting for the person you thought you loved to hurt you.

  *TRIGGER WARNING, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE FOR REST OF THE STORY*

“Ah, perfect.” Noah has been sharpening the instrument for the past ten minutes.

  Just when Shayne thought it couldn’t get any worse, Noah approaches him. He doesn’t say anything, just gets closer and closer. Then it happens. Noah raises the weapon to Shayne’s chest and slowly drags the sharpened edge across. Shayne winces in pain, but it’s nothing he can’t handle.  _ Yet _ . Then Noah flips over the weapon. 

  He starts to use the serrated side of the knife and drags it across the same wound. Blood is starting to pool and drip down Shayne’s body. He’s struggling to hold back tears now, as Noah goes over the same wound countless times cutting through layers of skin and eventually the fatty tissue covering muscle. He then moves on to a different place.

  Blood is starting to pool on Shayne’s lap, as he struggles not to move. Noah continues to stay silent and the only noise audible is Shayne’s heavy breathing. He finally stops “drawing” on Shayne, and walks back over to the tray. Noah picks up what looks like a scalpel but larger.

  “Wh...Why? Why are you d-doing this?” Shayne struggles to speak. 

“Why don’t you get it yet? You are nothing to me. You always have been. You have never meant more than a rat’s ass to me, and you never will. Your parents are dead, you’ve never had any other siblings, it’s always just been you and me. It has always been just us until you met that asshole Damien,” Noah just laughs. “I used to love you, y’know. I used to think that we were absolutely perfect together. But that faded really fucking fast. You started to blow me off for Damien. Even after we moved in together, you still fucking ignored me. I became cold, numb. I became nothing, and felt nothing. So if I can’t feel anything, I’m going to make you feel it. I will do anything to make you feel anything and everything other than love and happiness for once. No matter what it takes, I will make you suffer.”

  Shayne can’t respond. He doesn’t know how to, and he’s afraid to even say anything at this point. He can see tears starting to run down Noah’s face, as he starts to laugh. He looks almost psychotic as he brings up his hands to his face, sobbing and laughing hard. He starts cackling, and drops to his knees. Noah can’t stop sobbing at this point, and all Shayne can do is watch. He can’t move, can’t say anything, can’t  _ do  _ anything. 

  He feels a sick sense of empathy for the man kneeling in front of him. Shayne knows that he shouldn’t, but he’s spent the last year and a half of his life with this man. So why does he want to go hug him, to hold him and tell him that everything is going to be okay? 

  Suddenly Noah stands up.  Tears still streaming down his face, he stumbles to grab whatever weapon he can and launches himself at Shayne. He stabs him with all his might, and all Shayne can do is widen his eyes and take the pain. Blood is pouring out of multiple wounds at this point, and Shayne is shaking. Suddenly Shayne stops moving. His eyes are dead, and he's fallen silent. No more toxic conversation, heavy breathing, just silence. Perfect.

  Noah backs up, panting, and looks at his work. Somehow, he doesn’t feel sick, or bad, or terrified at what he had done like he thought that he would. He feels power. He feels euphoric. He feels... _ alive _ . 


End file.
